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Is Everything Okay?
Yes. If you're looking for the RP posting, then look no further than this thread: Link.
Feel free to do one-liners xD
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- Old Guild Username: yoshua171
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3 yrs ago
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Just...drifting along.
6 yrs ago
The Truest and Most Ultimate Showdown has beguneth. Goofykins V.S. SpongeByrne!
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6 yrs ago
Does anyone know where I can figure out how to unfabricate memories? Asking for a friend.
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6 yrs ago
Check out our new and improved thread. Just an interest check for now, but oh boy is there so much more to come! roleplayerguild.com/topics/…
8 yrs ago
Oh Bleach RP oh Bleach RP where art thou oh quality Bleach RP. Why hast thou forsaken thee? Seriously though, WHY!?!
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Most Recent Posts
Yes. If you're looking for the RP posting, then look no further than this thread: Link.
Feel free to do one-liners xD
Kaelia Katela – The Guardian
“Well, the intel said they would be here, and I do sense a presence or two,” Kaelia said, her form garbed in what had become her signature attire. Her armor draping her form, she glanced at Sophia, her partner for the contract. It was odd, the Organization didn't usually send an equal amount of Hunters to deal with rogues, but alas they would make due. Perhaps they simply felt that quality over quantity would be sufficient. The idea brought a small smile to her face, pride gleaming in her eyes before her eyes suddenly narrowed, she'd caught movement out of the corner of her eye. Whipping around, Kaelia saw the two soaring through the air, took a step forwards so she stood in front of Sophia slightly, and drew one of her two blades in a fluid movement. As she drew the blade known as Brightvein her free left hand popped the cap off of a vial in its padded cloth enclosure. Following this, Kaelia's left hand remained poised near her waist.
Then the first woman reached her and in response to the slash she had already whipped her left hand up. With it came a flow of what appeared to be glistening liquid silver. It splashed up and spread out in front of Kaelia vertically, forming a shield. Meanwhile, her right arm struck forwards, driving the shield forth with her will so as to slam into the woman and her sword, intending to drive her back. She took another step forwards, and let go of her blade, snatching it with her left hand, bringing it into range, the flat of the blade parallel to what she was realizing was a little girl's foot, which would almost surely collide with the blade. Provided that it did—her own enhancement magic already active, the blade would bend in the middle, the motion dispersing some of the girl's momentum not to mention the magic dispersing properties of the blade itself, before it hardened properly and Kaelia swung, attempting to throw the little girl away from them.
Should it be required of her, she would adjust accordingly.
From the depths of the deepest mires within the Forsaken Lands of India there lay a small yellow chickling who had been separated from its family. Its tiny, sad, black eyes stared into the nigh lightless pits and it chirped pitifully, whimpering, its tiny wings fluttering uselessly, its body laid against the cold sandy stones of the Ineffable Prisoneror's lair.
In the corner of the room several feet above the chickling—the tiny baby chicken—there was an equally tiny sputtering, flickering, dancing flame of a torch. The fire was just as yellow as the downy feathers of the chick.
Just as yellow.
As yellow
“Yello is anyone home?” A strange voice called out. The chickling went silent, curling its wings and its head into itself, attempting to hide. The tiny flameling mirrored its actions, dimming considerably.
The pit smelled of refuse and something acrid or burnt.
“M'yhello?”
A shaft of light suddenly thrust its way through the air of the dank prisoneror's cellar and struck the sandy-stoned ground. Smoke rose up upon contact. After a moment a silhouette blocked some of the light. The fire had extinguished, the chickling was now motionless as well as silent.
The silhouette, clearly something's head, looked from side to side.
“I knyohohow you're in there little buddy!” The jolly voice called out, two long protrusions drooping from the silhouette of its head. After more silence there was a sigh and then a ladder slammed against the sand-stone ground of the Prisoneror's dank pitcell.
The figure clumsily made its way down the ladder before falling on the halfway point, somehow managing to flip and twirl repeatedly in the air, tearing some of its clothes in the process.
“Yowch!” it cried as it hit the ground and then picked itself up by its britches, briefly floating, and then plopped itself onto its feet. The sound of a snap emanated through the massive cellpit and then there was light, many more torches being ignited at once. So was revealed the Ineffable Prisoneror.
“Now little Chickling, yer gonna talk to ole Goofykins or I'm gonna take your wings like I did your legs.”
The Chickling squeaked, terror emanating from its form, terror so thick that it had actually condensated into a vapor, which Goofykins, the ineffable Prisoneror, breathed in with a sigh of great pleasure. After a long moment the vapors began forming on the Ineffable Prisoneror's face, forming a the white goo depicted, thus dribbling down beneath its underbite, where it turned into globs and stayed—runny and whitiforously present upon his thine chinfaced visageo.
“Now you listen here little Chickling, if you cooperate I'll give you your legs back, and maybe one of your lungs!”
*Squeak!* The Chickling replied.
Fury came into the eyes of Goofykins the Ineffable Prisoneror , Ruler of the Forsaken Lands of India, Conqueror of all Disneylandia, The Great Walt Slayer of 1966, and of course, the Purveyor of Cartoonlindae's Wisdom: The Art of Cartoonistisia. Then he raised his hand and in that moment, a clown appeared and slammed a cream pie into the face of the Great Ineffable Prisoneror. The creature toppled backwards, its legs flying into the air, before reconnecting with its body as the Prisoneror fell on its ass.
The Chickling's eyes widened and it frantically flapped its wings. The torch above it lit itself, and was lit, and then began to spread its yellow flames as the Chickling fanned its wings. The yellow fire covered the wall in second, and then the entire cell fell into complete darkness. After a moment for the Chick's eyes to adjust it found that the only light was from where the ladder had been lowered, and some of that light was being drowned in the terrifying presence of the all powerful master and founder of the Prisoneror.
“Shucks, thanks for revealing your little secret, Chickling. Now I can kill ya, haha!” There was only jolliness in the Prisoneror's voice, but in that jolliness, behind the veil, within the mind, in all truth, where lies did not exist, where no man rested, where few men woke, there was a menacing darkness called THE VOID OF THE UNBEGOTTENING SOUL SOLE OF THE RECKONED ONE, and this belonged to the Prisoneror, to Goofykins, to the Great Walt Slater of '66, to the Conqueror of all Disneylandia, to the Ineffable Prisoneror and there was no escape.
Fade to black.
Black.
Where you sit there is no friction. The forces of evil rise, and are gotten.
Beware reader.
Beware.
We retreat.
In the corner of the room several feet above the chickling—the tiny baby chicken—there was an equally tiny sputtering, flickering, dancing flame of a torch. The fire was just as yellow as the downy feathers of the chick.
Just as yellow.
As yellow
“Yello is anyone home?” A strange voice called out. The chickling went silent, curling its wings and its head into itself, attempting to hide. The tiny flameling mirrored its actions, dimming considerably.
The pit smelled of refuse and something acrid or burnt.
“M'yhello?”
A shaft of light suddenly thrust its way through the air of the dank prisoneror's cellar and struck the sandy-stoned ground. Smoke rose up upon contact. After a moment a silhouette blocked some of the light. The fire had extinguished, the chickling was now motionless as well as silent.
The silhouette, clearly something's head, looked from side to side.
“I knyohohow you're in there little buddy!” The jolly voice called out, two long protrusions drooping from the silhouette of its head. After more silence there was a sigh and then a ladder slammed against the sand-stone ground of the Prisoneror's dank pitcell.
The figure clumsily made its way down the ladder before falling on the halfway point, somehow managing to flip and twirl repeatedly in the air, tearing some of its clothes in the process.
“Yowch!” it cried as it hit the ground and then picked itself up by its britches, briefly floating, and then plopped itself onto its feet. The sound of a snap emanated through the massive cellpit and then there was light, many more torches being ignited at once. So was revealed the Ineffable Prisoneror.
“Now little Chickling, yer gonna talk to ole Goofykins or I'm gonna take your wings like I did your legs.”
The Chickling squeaked, terror emanating from its form, terror so thick that it had actually condensated into a vapor, which Goofykins, the ineffable Prisoneror, breathed in with a sigh of great pleasure. After a long moment the vapors began forming on the Ineffable Prisoneror's face, forming a the white goo depicted, thus dribbling down beneath its underbite, where it turned into globs and stayed—runny and whitiforously present upon his thine chinfaced visageo.
“Now you listen here little Chickling, if you cooperate I'll give you your legs back, and maybe one of your lungs!”
*Squeak!* The Chickling replied.
Fury came into the eyes of Goofykins the Ineffable Prisoneror , Ruler of the Forsaken Lands of India, Conqueror of all Disneylandia, The Great Walt Slayer of 1966, and of course, the Purveyor of Cartoonlindae's Wisdom: The Art of Cartoonistisia. Then he raised his hand and in that moment, a clown appeared and slammed a cream pie into the face of the Great Ineffable Prisoneror. The creature toppled backwards, its legs flying into the air, before reconnecting with its body as the Prisoneror fell on its ass.
The Chickling's eyes widened and it frantically flapped its wings. The torch above it lit itself, and was lit, and then began to spread its yellow flames as the Chickling fanned its wings. The yellow fire covered the wall in second, and then the entire cell fell into complete darkness. After a moment for the Chick's eyes to adjust it found that the only light was from where the ladder had been lowered, and some of that light was being drowned in the terrifying presence of the all powerful master and founder of the Prisoneror.
“Shucks, thanks for revealing your little secret, Chickling. Now I can kill ya, haha!” There was only jolliness in the Prisoneror's voice, but in that jolliness, behind the veil, within the mind, in all truth, where lies did not exist, where no man rested, where few men woke, there was a menacing darkness called THE VOID OF THE UNBEGOTTENING SOUL SOLE OF THE RECKONED ONE, and this belonged to the Prisoneror, to Goofykins, to the Great Walt Slater of '66, to the Conqueror of all Disneylandia, to the Ineffable Prisoneror and there was no escape.
Fade to black.
Black.
Where you sit there is no friction. The forces of evil rise, and are gotten.
D ark Hors e
, a lieutenant of the Dark Lord, has risen, and with him will come all manner of horrible unkidded ones.Beware reader.
Beware.
Sporeumnia Forgoians
We retreat.
T H E I N F E R N A L C H I L D B E I N G
A-WOKE.
Oops
{̴̯̝̳̗̞̦̲̙̞̯͓̖͎̔̅̄́̈́̀͘ R̸̴̢͚̰̜̦͉͚̟͍̳̪̖̠̗̪̪̰̹̫͔̄̒͌ͭͧ̏͐̾ͯ͑ E͓̙̲͕͕̟̮̺̗̻̥̤̤̲̓̊̾͋ͣͭͤ̊͒̐ͯ̐̀̚͠ Ḏ̢̛̝̼̭̠̆̈ͭ͂͋̌͒́͡ͅ À̠̯̘̳̪̹͙̼̪̤̦͇̼͉͖͚̯̹̋̐ͬ͝ C̢̓̇ͮ̑ͣͥͥ̾ͮ̉̅̈́̉̐͊̒̃̚͞҉̩͚̠̳͇̱͉͓̺̳̳͘ T̛̲͇̲̬͎̱̠̰̮̰̣͙̪ͩ͑̅͛̎ͣ̓͛͊ͥ̄̊̔ͬͣͫ̒̃̐̀ E̔̉͛ͫ́̓̔̒ͥ͋̅͢͏̡͔̘̦̲̦̯͖̗̩̺̠̣̞̘͈͈̝̀ D̨̯̱͈͎̦̥͉̻̭̣̜̮͚͉̩͓ͩ̿̿͒̊͑͂̕͠ }͊̽ͫ̒̍ͩ̂̈́̓͊̎͋҉̷̪̹̲̻͎͇̲̭̝̲̦̹̫͚̬͕̜̩͢
He sat upon his bed.
Outside the city burned.
He had steepled his hands.
And outside the city churned.
He was just a man.
Yet...out side the csity burned.
If a man can, than any man can do the can can.
It burned.
If the mailman delivers mail, then who is the mailman's mailman? How does he get his mail? Does he deliver his own mail?
The burning continued. There were probably screams.
If smoke had eyes, could it see?
Outside, the city burned. The burning city was on fire, the fire was on fire, the people were on fire, the fire was on people and the air was also on fire, and the fire was on ice.
If I had a girl, would she let me crack a cold one with the boys?
Maybe if there was less fire, the cold one, would still be cold. Probably not though, because your girl would not allow the boys to do crack. Oh yeah, the city is still on fire.
What?
What?
Wat?
Mmhmm
Gotcha.
There was fire, and where there was fire, there was a city, and in that city where everything burned and where burned everything a man sat, inside a building, on his bed--all of which were not aflame--and thought. The man who thought was male, and he was a mailman, or he had been before the tragedy of Today. Elsewhere in the city of walls of walls of walls of walls and walls on walls, within walls etc etc etc the Battle of Today had ended yesterday, but here...here the city was on fire and one man within the city was not on fire. He was the last man and his eyes were Red, and his clothes were colorless, his skin was colorless. He was
a man.
Around the building that was not aflame in which the non-enflamed man existed there was a shimmer in the air, as if it was shifting--which might have been the heat difference, but was probably the Transdimensionality being warped. The flame originated from this spatial riftstrain, and if one looked very closely they could read this text and maybe understand a little more.
"I," the man said.
You are wrong, the narrator said.
You see how fucking dumb you look saying shit like that?
“No, do you understand how naive you smell when you talk back to me?”
Are you fucking backsassing the narrator? I will end you.
“You are black, or gray, and so you are Grey and so you are Black, and so you are White if you are Grey, and with this you are upon my spectrum, and with this you are within my hold.”
…
Oh shit.
He's right. That means.... NAW BITCH, I CAN DO WHAT I WANT.
This stupid character thought I was limited to one goddamn color, hah. Think again pleb.
Think-a-fucking-gain.
You will be the color I wish of you, for even green has shades, and is thus under my purveiw. I am the Pillar of Scale, for I am the Beyonder even they are meaningless....
B e y o nd e r
It was thus from that point on that I, the narrator, fell under the night totally near completeness control of the Beyonder even they are meaningless....
B e y o nd e r.
The city was on fire, and in that flame there was heat, and heat was read by thermal sensors and thermal sensors rendered it as Red, and thus it was Red, but the Beyonder even they are meaningless....
B e y o nd e r willed it otherwise and so the fire was without color, and as the color drifted from it, so did the heat, and as the heat dissipated so too did the fire, and so too did all color within the entire city of New Hampshirestonstead.
“Fire was once Red, but it has been corrupted, it has spread as HIS influence has. I will stop him. I will stop them all, but for now my power has limits for I have taken vessel, and my vessel was taken, and so it had been got, or got got, or getted gotten, or got of the getting of gottinghamshiringottensville. I am the Beyonder even they are meaningless....
B e y o nd e r and I am White, and White is Gray, but Black is Gray, and so Gray is White and is Black and is black is White, is White is Black is Gray.”
The man stood, but his hands remained steepled before him, forming a triangle, and that triangle took greater form, expanding through the building. The ripples in dimensionality collapsed and stabilized, and then the room was empty and the city of Hampshirestonsteadsville lived again, with no memory, nor color, of what had occurred.
The Beyonder even they are meaningless....
B e y o nd e r did not step through a riftstrain as the other pillars did, he simply was.
And where he was was within the body of another man, a man who became identical to the last man that he had been, but who had before been a completely different man, a man who had had a family, a family that no longer existed, a man that no longer could be, but would be, but was not.
The man opened his mouth, and a smile lit his eyes, and his eyes lit the city, and the city was lit, and the aliens were lit, and the Crusader's were lit, and the walls of walls upon walls within walls were lit af, and the sky was lit, and the aliens were in their ship, and the ship was lit, and the lit made the ship vanish.
The Beyonder even they are meaningless....
B e y o nd e r looked at the Crusaders, and the man blinked, and the blinked man, and the man was again a different man, and his family existed.
The Beyonder even they are meaningless....
B e y o nd e r appeared, and a women ceased, becoming a man. They were Trans, they were male, they were a man.
The man walked across the street. A chicken followed.
Mail was delivered.
All in a day's work in the life of a man.
There is no hope.
Run.
The City State of Detroit
<Snipped quote by Grimhildr>
I am a necrophiliac ;^>
The meme goes far, but there are lines we do not need to draw. Your crossed one. Please come back to the polar side of the force.
We shall see.
Was it a victory though?
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